Exile
by A. Windsor
Summary: Nyssa and Sara fake her death at the end of 3x01 and send the Canary into hiding. Season 3 Fix-it Fic.
1. Chapter 1

Sara hears the boots hit the roof and turns around in surprise to see Nyssa.  
>"What-"<br>"My father is going to kill you."  
>The words just hang between them for a few moments, Sara's blood running cold, Nyssa's eyes filling with pain.<br>"Many people risked their lives to tell me this."  
>Sara swallows hard. "And what are you going to do about it?"<br>Nyssa says nothing, looking down. Sara closes her eyes.  
>"I'd prefer you do it, rather than him," Sara says, resigned. Nyssa is her father's daughter, and the agony is written all over her face. "You can make it fast."<br>There's a hand on her face, and Sara is surprised to open her eyes and meet Nyssa's gaze, an arms-length away.  
>"I am not going to kill you," Nyssa says forcefully. "No one is. I promised your father. I promised you."<br>"But Ra's-"  
>"We will figure something out," Nyssa cuts her off, kissing her quickly. "But for now we must move. And quickly."<p>

* * *

><p>They fake her death.<br>Again.  
>It's agonizing to do it on purpose this time, to make her family believe that she is gone for good, instead of just letting them assume.<br>But Ra's al-Ghul is all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, and only someone like Nyssa could pull this off against him.  
>Maybe.<br>The vial Nyssa hands her is enough to render her all-but dead for twenty-four hours. Nyssa positions her carefully, so that an awning will slow her descent, and fires three, non-lethal, arrows into Sara's chest just half a second after loosing one into the would-be assassin's knee.  
>Sara feels the white-hot tear of each arrow, registers the agony in Nyssa's face, and then the world goes dark.<p>

* * *

><p>"Breathe deeply, habibti. Slowly."<br>Her chest is burning and her vision is swimming. She focuses on Nyssa's voice as everything comes back to her. She has conquered pain, had it burned and beaten out of her, but rising from the dead with three arrow wounds is not particularly comfortable.  
>Finally she silences the rush of returning reality and narrows the sensations down to one: Nyssa's fingers softly stroking her cheek. She expands her senses to feel herself cradled in Nyssa's arms.<br>"Hi," she tries to say. It's more of a croak than anything discernible, but Nyssa smiles gently.  
>Nyssa is whispering reassurances in a swirl of languages, and Sara's pretty impressed with herself that she can both distinguish the languages and more or less remember what it means. Not bad for the formerly dead.<br>"Did it work?"  
>Nyssa's smile fades, but she nods.<br>"Your sister found your body as we suspected. Oliver Queen and the others held your body for almost the entire twenty-four hours before burying it in your former grave. They plan to hold a funeral in two days, when your mother gets to Starling. Your grave is, of course, empty now."  
>Sara shudders. Now. Having actually been buried in your premature grave is even more creepy than having one.<br>"I administered a sedative to aid in transportation. Felicity had already stitched your wounds."  
>"But she thought I was dead."<br>Nyssa nods. "She took great care with you, still. You will take longer to heal. An unfortunate side effect of the elixir. But you should recover."  
>"And do what?" Sara says. "I'm dead."<br>"You are not," Nyssa says sternly. "That was the point."  
>"You know what I mean. What now?"<br>"Now, we find somewhere for you to recover."

* * *

><p>It's a crappy hotel, because crappy hotels are anonymous. It's not a long term solution, by any means, or even a medium term solution, but Sara can't even walk, so it'll do for now. Until they figure something else out. Tomorrow is the funeral, the fake funeral everyone thinks is real. Nyssa has already been recalled to Nanda Parbat, but her supposed grief buys them three more days. Two together, one to travel.<br>Nyssa keeps Sara as comfortable as she can.  
>"What now?" Sara croaks for the tenth time.<br>"Shh," Nyssa soothes, brushing a warm wet cloth across Sara's brow.  
>"No, Nyssa. We have to have a plan. Where can I go?"<br>"We," Nyssa corrects.  
>"No. Me. They'll find us together."<br>"Who will protect you if we are apart?"  
>"I can take care of myself. We need to pick a place. Get me an identity the League can't trace. Go get my money. Leave a little aside, then get the rest to my family. Then-"<br>"Habibti. Please rest. Our plans will be for naught if you die of your wounds."

* * *

><p>Sara finally falls back asleep. Nyssa continues to watch her, refusing to close her eyes, lest Sara slip away.<br>She made a choice, chose Sara over her father, over the League, probably over her own life. And she would do it again and again, just to keep her Ta-er al-Sahfer safe. But the sting of betrayal, her beloved's murder by order of her father… It boils within her. She must seek revenge. As soon as she gets Sara to safety.

* * *

><p>Nyssa attends Sara's funeral. There's a moment of awkwardness when Dinah and Laurel begin to object, but surprisingly, Captain Lance comes to her defense. With a teary Felicity at his back, he insists she be allowed to stay.<br>Still, out of respect, she stays on the outskirts of the small assembly. And though she knows that Sara is in actuality alive, she finds herself forgetting. Finds herself imagining what would have happened if she hadn't been warned, if her father's man had completed his mission…  
>It takes all of her training not to break down.<br>When the funeral is over, she quickly disappears. She cannot face all that grief right now, not when she knows it's all a lie.

* * *

><p>"Thank god you're back. I'm starving!"<br>"That's a good sign."  
>Nyssa deposits a bag of Big Belly Burger on the nightstand. She turns up her nose, but her yellow bird deserves a little spoiling right now.<br>Sara grins at the sight.  
>"I should almost die more often."<br>Nyssa glares at her, and Sara manages that playful half-smile of hers, even with pale cheeks and dark circles around her eyes.  
>"I'm kidding," she soothes. "Come, sit with me. Where are you going to hide me first?"<br>"Hopefully only once. And I shall take care of the details. Your work now is to be well enough to protect yourself, as you tell me you can. Enjoy your lunch. I have a few more errands to run, but I shall return shortly."  
>"You're leaving again?" Sara pouts.<br>"Briefly. For supplies." She kisses her warmly. "Keep the door locked."

* * *

><p>"I need your assistance."<br>Felicity jumps, phone flying out of her hand and up over her shoulder, clattering onto the ground behind the couch. Shit.  
>She's been frayed at the edges since Laurel appeared with Sara's body. Frayed and hollow. And jumpy.<br>But leather-clad, red-veiled, daughter of the demon, is sorta an okay thing to be jumpy about.  
>Not scared, though.<br>There was so much pain in Nyssa's eyes at the funeral this morning. Sympathy had evaporated Felicity's terror.  
>"Hi," Felicity says, straightening her askew glasses.<br>"I apologize for startling you," Nyssa says formally. "I've come to recruit you for something of the utmost secrecy."  
>"I, um - What?"<br>"I must return to Nanda Parbat, but I need eyes and ears in this country on a very special… project. Talented eyes and ears. Invested eyes and ears."  
>"I'm… not sure I want to work for the League of Assassins."<br>"This is not for the League. This is for me."  
>Felicity considers. Felicity thinks of Sara, of how much, how obviously, she loved Nyssa. (Obvious to her, at least. The boys are a little dim.) For some reason, she says yes.<br>"What I am about to tell you, where I am about to take you, must remain only between us," Nyssa says, eyes flashing steel. "I will kill anyone you tell. Including Oliver Queen."  
>"Whoa - hey, wait - "<br>"Sara is alive."

* * *

><p>"We buried a live body. We buried a live body," Felicity is still trying to process. "I sewed up a live body. I - "<br>"Felicity," Nyssa interrupts, not taking her eyes off the road. "Are you alright?"  
>"Sara is alive!" Felicity cries. "That's - that's crazy! And you want me to help you hide her and never, ever, ever tell any of the people who love her."<br>"Yes."  
>"But she's alive," Felicity says softly, letting her eyes drift out the window. "She's alive."<br>"Yes," Nyssa replies gently.  
>"Holy crap."<p>

* * *

><p>She's not expecting it, but when she sees Sara for the first time again, Felicity sobs.<br>Beautiful, brave, a little broken, but miraculously alive Sara.  
>"Hey you," Sara grins softly.<br>She still looks tiny. Not dead on a table tiny. But bundled in a blanket, still pale and weak, curled in a bed in a sketchy hotel room. Felicity rushes forward, gathering Sara up in her arms.  
>"It's okay," Sara soothes. "It's okay."<p>

* * *

><p>"Your new ID will be waiting at the house tomorrow. Here's all your new bank accounts," Felicity turns her tablet to Sara, "Cards are in the mail. You're a former defense contractor. I'll try to find a job for you once you've recovered a little more. Speaking of, lemme see your sutures."<br>She's already tugging at Sara's tank top, and Sara sees Nyssa's barely-there grin out of the corner of her eye.  
>"It's fine. You did a good job," Sara shoos.<br>"Stop whining."  
>Nyssa raises an eyebrow as if seconding the assessment.<br>"Fi-ine."  
>Felicity tuts over the stitches. "If I'd known you were alive…"<br>"I've got plenty of scars, Felicity. It's part of the look," Sara calms. "Don't worry."  
>"And you're sure I can't tell anyone? Not even your family?"<br>Sara winces, and not from Felicity's prodding. "Especially not my family."  
>A frown crosses Felicity's face, but she nods resolutely. Sara knows she can trust her.<br>"John and Lyla named the baby after you."  
>"They did what?!" Sara bursts. She looks immediately to Nyssa. "Why didn't you tell me?"<br>"I did not know of such a child," Nyssa shakes her head.  
>"That's gonna be awkward when you come back from the dead," Felicity comments.<br>She says when, but Nyssa and Sara exchange a look: they both know it's an 'if'. Felicity is not dumb or naive, so she probably does, too.  
>"Do you have a picture?" Sara deflects from the moment.<br>"Just a couple," Felicity grins, immediately fishing in her purse for a phone with a now-shattered screen. "Crap. Guess I need a new phone. Speaking of…"  
>She keys a few things into hers and then sets it down, retrieving another smartphone from her bag. Sara smiles when she sees the baby pictures pop up on the new phone screen.<br>"This is yours. That's Baby Sara. And if you hit this icon," she taps an unassuming tile, "There is a secure connection to me. 'Cause I'm your backup. I mean the whole phone is secure. And untraceable. But this part especially."  
>"Thanks. I appreciate it." Sara notices the time when she takes the device from Felicity. She smiles sadly. "Nyssa should take you back. Ollie'll notice."<br>Felicity shrugs. "He's probably just hitting some things." But even she has to admit it's time to go. She begins to pack up her things. "I'm leaving very specific wound care instructions, okay? Take care of yourself."  
>"You got it, doctor."<br>Felicity studies her intently for a few more seconds, then her face crumples and she throws herself into Sara's arms again.  
>"Please take care of yourself."<p>

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Nyssa (with Felicity's assistance) sets her up in the suburbs of Coast City. It seems like a place no one would look for her, so close to Starling, so utterly not Canary. Nyssa has bought her a cute little house through an alias or two, just two bedrooms, with a small yard and comfy back porch.

Sara thinks it's a stroke of brilliance. There are plenty of places around the world where a blue-eyed blonde American named Sara sticks out. Suburban Coast City is not one of them. There must be at least a dozen in her zip code alone.

Nyssa comes when she can, but that's not often. She's under the microscope, playing the grieving yet obedient daughter, convincing Ra's that his assassination was successful. When she leaves Sara, every time could be the last. It's always been that way between them, but this feels different.

The first time she'd left, all their passion had been thrown into a few kisses, Sara's body too broken to express it any other way. They exchanged few words that weren't about logistics. Nyssa was so full of rage, but struggling to tamp it down. Nyssa wasn't raised to express her feelings in ways that didn't involved breaking things (and people). Though the mission of getting to the truth of Sara's would-be murder and planning revenge against her own father has given her purpose, Sara still sees that rage boiling inside of Nyssa when she visits.

For Sara's part, she has trouble mustering any anger. She spends most of her days watching crap TV and stumbling to and from the bathroom. She is finally starting to get back on her feet, but she still doesn't have the energy to get a job. Falling three stories with three arrows in her abdomen and ingesting a drug that basically killed her for twenty-four hours has definitely taken its toll.

So she cleans the handgun Nyssa brought her. It's less conspicuous than her bo, and she can't even swing that anyway. She cleans the gun, sometimes cleans her dishes, and gets sick of anything having to do with housewives, real or not.

Felicity filled a Kindle for her, but Sara has always struggled with the attention span necessary to really read. Of course, Nyssa used to read to her for hours in Arabic and Russian and Mandarin and Spanish, but that was different. Very different.

And in this too quiet house, she feels a malaise begin to set in.

Sara has been injured before. She has been alone before. She has been injured and alone before. But this time feels different. Her months with Team Arrow had let her grow re-accustomed to human warmth, and she'd left that camaraderie for Nyssa's arms. She hates to admit it, but she is incredibly lonely.

She speaks to Felicity rarely. For one, it isn't very fair to make the other woman entertain her, all while lying to their friends. For another, no matter how secure Felicity has made their communications, Sara doesn't want to gamble. Not when it's the League they are (possibly) up against. Not when it's Felicity who would be at risk.

So Sara keeps watching soaps and _Maury_ and tries her best to make herself strong enough to go to work doing anything.

Anything but being alone in an empty house, thinking about her mourning father, sobbing mother, devastated sister.

Anything but that.

* * *

><p>Nyssa beats a familiar tattoo against the door, but Sara still answers with the gun in her hand. Just in case. Once she's pulled the Heir to the Demon into her home, however, Sara sets the gun on the windowsill and throws herself into her arms.<p>

"You're moving much better," Nyssa says, voice muffled by Sara's shoulder.

Sara nods. It's a moment of weakness, but Nyssa has always been the one person she can be weak around.

She tugs Nyssa back towards the couch at the back of the small house. Nyssa obliges, leaving a duffle bag where she dropped it by the door. Sara kisses her, easily guiding them, unseeing, backwards. The room isn't big, and she already knows it like the back of her hand, even though it's only been six weeks. Nyssa trusts her enough to let herself be led.

Nyssa pulls them up short, though, at the sofa, pulling away and looking in her eyes. Sara knows she is trying to be careful, gentle, but it's only the second time she's seen her, and the first she'd still been in bad shape. She hasn't _just_ been lonely.

After a huff of disapproval, Sara spins them and shoves Nyssa onto the couch. She catches the wolfish grin that passes over Nyssa's face as she lets herself fall.

"You _are_ feeling better, then," she notes.

"Talk later," Sara growls, falling on top of her.

"But habibti," Nysa breathes in her ear. "I thought you liked it when I talked."

* * *

><p>Later, the setting sun streaming through the curtains, Nyssa traces Sara's newest scars with her lips.<p>

"Are you okay?" Sara asks, struck by the reverence with which Nyssa has been studying her.

"You seem to be mostly healed," Nyssa says softly, breathing into Sara's collar bone.

"My stamina isn't what it was, though," Sara laughs, eyes drooping.

"Yes," Nyssa says dryly, "but you've always been content to let me do all the work."

Sara lets out a squeak of protest, but she really has expended the last of her energy. Nyssa smiles fondly and kisses her temple. Then she begins to disentangle herself from the couch, leaving the fleece throw tucked around Sara. Through sleepy, appreciative eyes, Sara watches her slip back into her t-shirt and leggings.

"Wait here. Rest. I'll make dinner. If you have anything resembling food in this house."

"Mmm. Funny," Sara says, feeling herself start to drift off.

* * *

><p>When she wakes, the sun has completely set and light comes from the tiny kitchen door across from the living room.<p>

Nyssa emerges, bringing a plate of something that smells pretty damn good.

"You had a surprising amount of food. And almost healthy."

"Hey, I've got a car. I can grocery shop… and then nap after."

"Mhmm."

Sara sits up, only a little light-headed, and accepts the plate gratefully.

"So how long do I have you?"

"Forever," Nyssa says, a twinkle in her eye.

"You sap. I meant here with me, this time," Sara grins at her.

"Two nights, if that."

"Okay," Sara says, trying to hide her disappointment. It's silly, she knows, but she still feels it. "I think I'm gonna try to get a bartender job in a couple weeks."

She digs into the chicken and rice and ignores Nyssa's concerned, wrinkled brow.

"I don't want you to push yourself," Nyssa tuts.

"And I don't want to literally go crazy."

"Habibti..."

"I can't sit around here all day, Nyssa. With no one and nothing but a tv and the Internet. I need something a little more."

"It opens you up to detection."

"I know how to maintain a cover."

"Not if you're losing consciousness from exhaustion. Wait a little longer." Nyssa pauses. "Please."

And how can she argue with the Heir to the Demon saying please?

"Just a little longer," Sara agrees.

"Thank you. Maybe we could get you a pet to occupy your time. You always loved the cats."

"Aw! How are they?"

"Doing their duty well. No mice."

Sara rolls her eyes.

"One of the cooks has a young daughter that checks on them every day; they are well cared for."

"Better."

"A dog, though, would perhaps better occupy your time now?"

* * *

><p>This was her idea, but Nyssa hadn't quite realized that she would have to <em>attend<em> the choosing of the dog. It is not the loudest place she's ever been, nor the place with the foulest smell, but it certainly isn't pleasant. Instead, she chooses to focus on Sara, who is bubbling with delight and dragging her along by her hand. Her yellow bird has always been an enigma, her bright shell hiding a dark core. But she's also always fit in more with "normal people" (as she calls them) than Nyssa ever has, can more easily move between worlds.

They move from chainlink pen to chainlink pen, mutts of every size and temperament pressed against the metal. Some bark, some wag their tails excitedly, some cower. Sara seems to consider them all, before returning to one particular kennel.

"This one."

Nyssa frowns. "I was thinking something that could actually aid in your protection."

"She's ferocious! Look!"

The dog in question (at least Nyssa thinks it is a dog; it could very well be a rat) looks up at her with baleful eyes.

"Very," Nyssa says flatly.

But Sara has her heart set on this tiny dog, which is not more than five kilos, if that. Nyssa has almost certainly seen rats larger. And she cannot say no to Sara.

"This one," Sara repeats, kneeling beside it, reaching her fingers through the links and getting them immediately licked for her trouble.

Nyssa sighs.

"If we must."

* * *

><p>"I was thinking," Nyssa says into the darkness. Sara feels her tracing freckles in the moonlight. The dog, which she named Rocket after her favorite baseball team, is curled at their feet, despite Nyssa's objections.<p>

"Mm. What were you thinking?"

"Perhaps I should have let you go. Or, rather, not allowed you to come back."

"Nyssa…"

"You belong in _this_ world, Sara."

"I belong in your world. Whatever and wherever that may be. You did let me go, and I _chose_ to come back. I choose you, no matter what."

That Nyssa makes no retort tells Sara that her point is taken. The silence lingers comfortably between them, Sara pressing her face into Nyssa's hair and inhaling deeply.

Some time later, Nyssa speaks again.

"I cannot stand to look at him. I am sure I will break soon, before I can ascertain his motives for ordering your murder. To stand obedient in his presence makes me sick inside."

"And moving too soon will get you killed."

"I am likely to be killed either way," Nyssa says, dispassionately.

"No, you're not. You promised."

"Sara…"

"You're not going to die. If you die, we might as well have let Ra's's guy kill me in Starling," Sara says firmly.

"Never say that," Nyssa hisses.

"It's true. You have to figure out what is going on and make him pay, or none of this was worth it. Or I'm going to be stuck here, alone, talking to the dog, until the League hunts me down and kills me for real. If you die, I die."

Nyssa nods, and her stilled fingers resume their tracing. At the foot of the bed, Rocket stands, circles a few times, then drops back onto the mattress with a huff.

"I think she's trying to tell us it's time to sleep," Sara says, gently now.

"I think she's bossy."

* * *

><p>At first, Sara hadn't been entirely sold on the idea of a dog, even though she agreed to go along with it and even fell for little Rocket at the shelter. She's never had a dog. In fact, besides her beloved canary, the only pets she's ever owned are the trio of kittens she and Nyssa raised in Nanda Parbat. Cats were much better suited for the life they'd lead then, in and out at a moment's notice. Rocket takes time and energy and a <em>routine<em>. But she also gives more companionship than those cats ever did. And in these cold, long, lonely nights, that's exactly what Sara needs. The routine is good for her, too. It lends some structure to her days, prevents them from blending into a half-aware blur of night and day.

Rocket is... Well, a dork, but she loves her for it. She has one ear up and one down, almost constantly. She's ten pounds, never going to get bigger (unless Sara spoils her), and loves nothing more than decently long walks and snuggles on the couch. The walks around the neighborhood have helped advance Sara's recovery. And so have the snuggles, if she's being honest with herself. There is also something incredibly healing about having that tiny, warm body tucked against her belly when she wakes from a nightmare, which happens more than she's ever told anyone, even Nyssa.

Now, Rocket watches quizzically as Sara stretches, occasionally lunging forward and giving her face a good licking. Only three weeks with this pup in her life, and Sara has trouble imagining life without her. It's even made her reluctant to go get the job she finally feels ready for, to leave little Rocket alone. But she talks to a creature that can't talk back almost constantly, so Sara thinks, for her mental health, that she should probably take the couple bartender shifts that Felicity found for her next week at some totally average bar.

Ten weeks in, and Sara realizes this is the most normal she's lived since she stepped onto the _Queen's Gambit_. If it weren't for Nyssa being constantly in danger of never returning, it might almost be nice. And if all this quiet time alone with her mind and its demons weren't slowly driving her mad…

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes from a routine nightmare of blood on her hands and that tell-tale gurgling sound to Rocket licking her face urgently.

It's a disconcerting juxtaposition, but she's actually pretty used to it. She stumbles into sweatpants and socks, dumping food into Rocket's bowl for her morning meal. Working bartender's hours just _sometimes_ has made "breakfast" and "dinner" obsolete terms. She didn't work last night, so she tried to sleep normal-ish hours. Fall's late sunrise and early sunset aren't helping matters.

After Rocket wolfs down her food, Sara opens the back door so that the dog can run out and do her business. She leaves the door open as she yawns and pulls herself onto the pull-up bar hanging in the door between the kitchen and the living room. The fall chill only helps wake her up more, chasing away the nightmare's demons. She's not worried about security so much anyway: she can take any local thugs that may wander by, and a closed door, locked or otherwise, won't stop the League. She's got a full sight line on it, anyway. No one is sneaking up on her.

There's still a tiny tug from her healing wounds, but as long as she doesn't overexert herself, she's fine. Sara lets the comfortable rhythm of the pull-ups gather her mind back into the right place. She can't wash the blood from her hands; she can only live with who she is and who she was and who she wants to be.

Who she wants to be, of course, is the real question. The two things she's been struggling with for years now are her need to be with Nyssa and her need to stop the killing. The second had overrun the first for a while, but it wasn't sustainable. In the end, she knows she has already chosen. She will sacrifice anything to be with Nyssa. Even surrounded by Team Arrow, doing good, saving people, there had been a giant Nyssa-sized hole in her world. One that has now returned.

Rocket comes bounding back inside, leaping to put her paws on Sara's shins.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. I'll give you attention, you brat."

Sara drops to her feet and scoops the pup up. She brings her into the kitchen and navigates getting breakfast with a mercenary little dog in her arms.

"Ah-ah. Behave or you're on the ground and I'm sitting on the counter. You're cute and smart, but I'm still taller, Lady Napoleon."

Her phone buzzes, and she dumps the toast on the counter and grabs it. It's a message from Felicity.

_I'm about to knock on your front door. Please don't shoot me._

As if on cue, Rocket starts to bark and squirm. Sara puts her down, and she sprints to the door, very angrily barking at it.

"Rocket, stop it. She's a friend."

Sara opens the door, and Felicity throws herself into her arms.

"What are you doing here?"

"I brought donuts. And coffee. Don't worry; no one followed me. This house is super cute, by the way. And oh my goodness. Is this your dog? She's super cute. Oh, and I bring a message from your super scary girlfriend."

"She's not-"

Felicity gives her a look from where she is squatted petting Rocket's ears.

"Okay, yeah, she's scary."

"And is girlfriend really the right word? I mean, I know you're like very committed these days. Fake your death and go up against Nyssa's dad level committed. You're not married, are you? You'd tell me, right? You'd've invited me, right?!"

Rocket, who has absolutely zero manners, is jumping up at Felicity.

"She likes to be held," Sara says, smirking. "And no, we're not married."

"Okay, just checking," Felicity says, picking up the wiggly dog.

Sara grabs a coffee.

"How'd you get away?" she asks.

"Oliver is not my boss. Anymore. I can go where I want to," Felicity insists.

"Okay," Sara says, realizing she must have stepped into something larger. "You said you have a message from Nyssa?"

"Oh yeah," Felicity says, handing the bag of donuts over. "I just love my random phone calls from the Heir to the Demon. She gave me an address where she wants you to meet her tomorrow. She can't make it all the way here, plus she thought it would be good if you mixed it up. I'm guessing you're not any closer to getting sprung from here?"

"No." She tries not to think about what it would take to leave here safely. She hasn't thought of a way to end this without Nyssa putting a sword through her father, and for all his cruelty, the bond between father and daughter is strong enough that the idea pains Sara. "How's… my dad? Laurel?"

Felicity winces, and Sara's stomach drops further.

"Sorry; I shouldn't have asked. This is already hard enough on everyone. No, Rocket, no coffee. You are seriously hyper enough."

Sara bats the dog's face away from the coffee in Felicity's other hand. She grabs the paper tray and then steals one of the cups for herself. She leads Felicity to the couch and opens the bag of donuts, which immediately steals Rocket's attention. She wiggles her way out of Felicity's arms and hops onto the couch, nose right in the action. They pass the next half hour evading Rocket's insistent attempts to steal food and making small talk about bar patrons and Dig trying to tolerate Oliver and Roy (and failing ninety percent of the time). It's light and airy and refreshing, until Felicity asks:

"How are you holding up?"

Sara feels her throat contract, her eyes prick with treasonous tears, and she fights back unwanted images of blood and death and wailing children.

"Fine," she manages.

"Sara."

"As in, not good. Not great. But not bad. Fine."

"Okay," Felicity nods, picking at the remains of the final sprinkle donut and playfully pushing Rocket away from her. "Must be nice to have her for company, at least."

Sara catches the tenacious dog and pulls her into her lap.

"She definitely helps."

* * *

><p>That night, long after Felicity has gone back to Starling and another chilly night has settled into Coast City, Sara is taking Rocket out for her daily "smell everything and wear myself out" walk. She has a scarf pulled up around her neck and a leather coat tugged tight, Rocket decked out in her own little sweater which Nyssa mercilessly mocked on her last visit.<p>

_She's an_ animal, _habibti. She has_ fur.

Sara finds the walks strangely peaceful, even if they sometimes pull at her longing for her family. It isn't homesickness - she passed that point so long ago, and home is Nyssa as much as Starling, now, if not more so.

But when she passes the tightly, neatly packed houses of this working class suburb, where she can smell the sea just a few blocks away, she is most reminded of her dad's cooking and her mom's laugh, and Laurel pressed beside her on the couch talking about her big dreams for the future.

Many nights, Sara and Rocket walk all the way to the beach; Rocket can smell and dig to her heart's content, and Sara likes to look out over the ocean. The ocean took something from her. It beat, battered, and broke her. But in the end it brought her to Nyssa. It spit her out to be made anew. She and the ocean have called a truce, and now the lapping waves remind her most of nights hidden away on a nameless freighter as she and Nyssa breathed forgiveness and redemption and forever into each other.

Tonight, though, the wind has picked up, and they stick to the shelter of the houses instead of the wide open beach. They weave through the streets, and Sara wrestles a couple discarded chicken bones out of a very disgruntled Rocket's mouth. Sara begins to suspect that Rocket is conspiring with the neighborhood's raccoon population to have every bone in the trash make its way onto the sidewalk for her perusal.

Suddenly, a shout cracks through the night, first inarticulate then clearer - "No! Stop!"

Sara's instincts kick in, and she hurries in the direction, turning the corner to see a man grabbing at a struggling woman a few houses down. She sizes the assailant up: she can take him, and she has the gun if it comes to that. She freezes, though. She's not the Canary anymore, and tearing apart this creep would bring more attention than Nyssa would want her to risk. The gun, too, would probably get the police involved. The _safest_ course would be to keep walking, not involve herself.

The woman screams again, and Sara feels agonizingly torn in two.

Rocket, however, has no such moral quandary and she forces Sara's hand. The dog begins the most vicious barking she's ever heard from her and lunges forward so quickly that the leash escapes even Sara's quick reflexes. The tiny ball of fury launches herself towards the scuffle and her ferocity seems to startle even the assailant, who drops his grip on the woman and backs up, giving the woman enough room to run towards Sara. Rocket, however, is not appeased, continuing her enraged snarling and barking just feet from the man, never still enough for him to realize he could honestly just kick her out of the way.

He seems to have decided he's attracted too much attention now, people coming to their doors to see what the commotion is about, and he hops back in his car. Sara makes a quick mental note of the license plate before stopping and calling Rocket to her.

"Rocket, come! Enough! Come!"

Rooted to the spot and still spitting fire towards the car speeding away, Rocket needs her a little closer before she breaks her concentration and quiets. In an instant, she's back to her usual teeny doofus self. Sara picks her up and hugs her tight, feeling Rocket's heart beat out a hurried rhythm of excitement.

"Good job, baby girl," she whispers, a laugh in her voice. She thinks she might have inadvertently adopted a vigilante dog. "Should've named you Canary."

Or Arrow, she notes with amusement, thinking of Rocket's propensity to bounce off her couch, table, chairs, coffee table, and even Sara herself, parkour-style.

After calming the woman down, typing the plate number into her phone, and insisting she call the police, Sara tries to take her leave, citing her need to get Rocket home.

"Thank you," the woman gushes.

"Hey, don't thank me. Thank her," Sara says, declining her chin towards the pup in her arms. Rocket accepts the grateful pets and rubs magnanimously. "I was just walking her."

There are more people approaching now, and Sara needs to go to maintain her anonymity. Citing the temperature and Rocket's small size, she gets away in time.

When they get home, Rocket gets _several_ extra treats, and Sara beats the ever (non) living shit out of her training dummy. She's thankful Rocket saved the situation with her Napoleonic aggression, giving the best possible outcome for all involved, but she's angry that she froze, that she almost left that woman to whatever was going to happen next.  
>What good is all the training she has, all the blood and tears - innocent and otherwise - that were the price of her skill, if she can't at least use it to protect people. She wanted to teach that man a lesson he'd never forget, about what it meant to be helpless in the face of superior force. If this darkness in her can't be channeled into the greater good, what does that make her? She is a killer, she's embraced that, but she wants to at least put that violence to good use. But to do so now would risk everything.<p>

They've saved her only to exile her far from everything and everyone she loves, hands tied behind her back with just enough freedom to twiddle her thumbs.

* * *

><p>The address Felicity gave her is another crappy anonymous hotel a three hour drive from Coast City. She knocks on the designated door at the designated time, and Nyssa answers the door in some plain clothes Sara is very appreciative of.<p>

The rain pounds on the roof of this cheap roadside motel

"You brought the dog?" Nyssa asks archly.

"Yes! What else was I supposed to do with her?" Sara exclaims, pulling the pup closer to her chest. "It's not like I am making friends, and I can't leave her with just anyone."

Nyssa sighs, looking the pair over.

"I've been replaced."

"Well, someone has to keep me warm at night."

Nyssa cocks her head and allows: "She is much better than the last."

Sara rolls her eyes and kisses Nyssa's cheek. "I should probably defend Ollie's honor or something, but Rocket is pretty great."

At their close proximity, Rocket takes the opportunity to lean over and give Nyssa's cheek a kiss of her own. Sara lets out a loud laugh, the kind no one else could ever get away with at Nyssa al-Ghul's expense.

"Aw, see, Rocket likes you!"

Nyssa sighs, and Sara steps into the room, pressing her lips to Nyssa's which are warm after the cold, icy rain of the afternoon. Rocket is squished between them and contentedly wiggly.

"Hi," Sara smiles against her lips. "Miss me?"

Nyssa growls out her answer. Sara laughs and lets herself be pulled tight against Nyssa. She relaxes at the familiar way they fit together, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. She tangles her hand into Nyssa's hair and breathes deeply. She laughs again as a disgruntled Rocket is attempting to insert herself between their feet.

Rocket eventually gives up on the endeavor, accepting this isn't her time. She contents herself chewing the rubber bone Sara drops from her pocket and makes a nest from Sara's discarded clothes.

Later, on thin, sweat-slicked sheets, Nyssa indulgently rolls her eyes when Sara beckons the dog onto the bed. Head on Nyssa's shoulder and hands absently stroking Rocket's ears, Sara tells of Rocket's adventure in vigilantism. Nyssa maybe even looks at the dog with more respect. But then, Sara recounts her fears and frustrations of the night before, and Nyssa grows more serious.

She shifts and takes Sara's face in her hands.

"You are not darkness. You are light," Nyssa insists, trying hard to get through. "Your light shines bright enough to overwhelm even the darkness of my soul."

Sara's eyes prick with tears at the heady mix of love, pride, and devotion in Nyssa's eyes.

"There is darkness in you, Sara, but it has not consumed you. It has made you stronger. I watched it happen. It has made your love and your light more pure and more true." She pauses, her own eyes wet. "If you believe yourself a monster, what do you think of me?"

"Nyssa," Sara breathes.

"I know that isn't what you think of me, so don't you dare think it of yourself. We serve a different set of laws than others, but there is as much justice and necessity in what we do as there is cruelty."

Sara kisses her, soft but insistent, to ground herself, falls into this wise, wonderful woman who chose to love her at whatever cost.

"You're not a monster," she whispers against her cheek.

"I am my father's daughter. But that you can love me tells me I have done something right." Nyssa sets her forehead against Sara's. "This is not forever. My Yellow Bird will not be caged for the rest of her days. Once I gather more information about who else was involved, I will remove the Demon's Head, and the League will be ours to command as we wish."

"He is your father," Sara says, anguished.

"He attempted to take you from me," Nyssa says forcefully. "It is unforgivable. To me, and the laws of the League. You are my Beloved."

So maybe Sara stretched the truth when she told Felicity they weren't married, but she didn't know how to explain the League laws that had bound their souls together for years now. It isn't marriage, but it is sacrosanct to the League. And it had kept her alive when she fled. Even as a traitor, members had hesitated to kill another's Beloved, especially the Heir to the Demon's.

"Then soon, please, Nyssa. Because my mind and I are dangerous when left alone together."

Nyssa nods and kisses her softly.

When she pulls away, Sara realizes that Rocket has crept up, fox-crawl-style, right between them, eyes contentedly closed, and Nyssa's hand scratching at her hip. Sara releases a sigh as the seriousness dissipates.

"You like her," she teases, looking down to Rocket.

"I have realized that she is young, her lifespan is long, and you are attached."

Sara laughs.

"So you're saying we're a family?"

Nyssa groans but doesn't stop scratching Rocket.

"I'm saying that since she is here to stay, we must get along."

"It's okay, Rocket. Mama loves you. She just has trouble saying it."

Nyssa sighs and pinches her hip.

"Hey, she was your idea."

"I am aware."

* * *

><p>Nanda Parbat is a place of intrigue and deception, but it has always been Nyssa's home. Now, though, she suspects enemies in every doorway, and her own father has betrayed her. Here in Nanda Parbat, Sara half a world away, her rage becomes stifling, and she cannot even direct it yet at he who deserved it.<br>The Demon's Head summons her shortly after her arrival and she meets him in his study, the model, dutiful daughter.  
>"Father," she says, briefly on her knee. He bids her rise with a flick of his wrist.<br>"How was your solitude?"  
>"Productive," Nyssa answers.<br>"I understand you mourn, daughter, but these frequent disappearances have made some start to talk. I care little for their talk, but it is time to channel your grief into justice for Ta-er al-Sahfer."  
>"Yes, Father."<br>"She was your Beloved. It is your duty to avenge her. And, despite her brief wavering, she was one of us. Our laws demand justice."  
>Nyssa swallows her bile at just what that justice is, how easily he lies to her. He who raised her on a promise of absolute truth.<br>"And justice we shall have."

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


End file.
